


If I Die Before You

by ratherbefree



Series: jxaappreciationweek2016 [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbefree/pseuds/ratherbefree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The ritual is cathartic - at least, that’s what his therapist says."</p><p>The title is literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Die Before You

**Author's Note:**

> written for jxaappreciationweek2016: "Day 3 (17 Aug 2016): Moment(s) that made you cry/angst fic"
> 
> partially inspired by an old lbd fic i read back in 2012, which unfortunately seems to have since been deleted.

The first thing that Jeff thinks when he leaves the office and steps out into the cold, dreary street is, _dammit, I didn’t think the weather would be this bad._

‘Cause it’s the middle of August, and sure, it’s been raining on and off for a couple days, but the afternoon had looked promising. And it’s the kind of deceivingly small, light drops of rain that seem to fall all at once and end up soaking through _everything,_ and truthfully, he hates doing _this_ in the rain - the ultimate cliche. 

Still, it’s something he _has_ to do, so he hunches his shoulders, ducks his head, and speed-walks the rest of the way to his car. 

It’s an hour’s drive away, so he turns on the radio, but the first two stations blast sickly sweet, crooning love songs, and when the initial song from the next one finishes, it switches to one of her old favourites - and that only serves to add extra weight to the already-heavy rock lodged in his chest. So he rides the rest of the way in silence. 

It’s the first anniversary that’s passed while he’s at his new workplace, and somehow it feels good to not have a car full of Hallmark _thinking-of-you_ cards, pre-written words of sympathy delivered with awkward hands and avoiding eyes. It always made him feel worse. Of course, on the flip side, there’s really no one to talk to, to vent about the utter _injustice_ of it all, even after all this time, and he’d take the faux sincerity if it meant his thoughts wouldn’t drive him crazy all day… But there isn’t exactly a happy middle, so he guesses any option would hurt, just perhaps in a different way.

He parks a couple blocks away and makes the trek, trying to focus most on the slap of his wet shoes on the sidewalk, the soft whisper of the wind, the rustle of his clothes when he moves. The old flower place is just on the bottom of the street - the small, concrete building standing grey and monotonous like the most immovable object. Maureen used to run shop, but now she only works in the evening. Jeff’s taken to _only_ coming in the evenings, because for the past few years he feels he and Maureen have forged an understanding, and she doesn’t try to sympathise or pity him or ask if he wants to talk; she just hands over the usual order, takes the cash, and nods. Every. Time.

6 sunflowers, 5 purple snapdragons, 2 red roses. Maureen usually ties a purple ribbon around the cellophane wrapper for free. He appreciates it. 

The gates are only a short walk away, but nevertheless he starts jogging, moving thoughtlessly until he’s running flat-out, the air cold and hard when it hits his lungs. It’s still raining, and by the time he reaches her row, the water is dripping down his nose, trickling across his neck and under the collar of his shirt, making him shiver.

“You made me run,” he says, huffing out a laugh as he places the flowers in the barely-there trench where grave meets wet, muddy grass.

Annie’s headstone doesn’t reply. 

“I probably looked ridiculous,” he continues, slicking back some hair that’s fallen across his forehead. 

Nothing.

“So work was actually alright today, all things considering.” He lowers himself to a half-kneeling, half-crouching position in front of the plot, uncaring of the sudden dampness seeping into his knees. “‘Boss says he’s impressed with how valuable I’ve already been to the company, so I think a promotion might happen in the near future. But mostly today, I just sat at my desk. Don’t think I got much work done - sorry. I know you’d hate to hear that.” 

This is the farthest he’s ever made it without crying, but he can already feel the hot tears prick at the corner of his eyes, only enhanced by the juxtaposition of cold, smooth raindrops. 

“Annie, I miss you.” Swallow. “Miss you like crazy. I know-“ okay, gulp for air, try again. “I know it gets easier with time. I guess I can’t understand that yet, ‘cause it’s only been a few years, but _God,_ Annie, I miss you every day.” 

And he does. Mostly it’s the boring, everyday things - like, he’ll be loading the dishwasher and can’t help adhering to her old system, or he’ll be grocery shopping and has to remember not to buy red wine because Annie was the only one who ever drank it, or he’ll be in the reception waiting to see his therapist, and having to curl his fingers in his pocket because all he really wants is her hand in his.  

After four years he’s still floored by the unfairness of everything. It was all completely wrong place, wrong time and the slightest decision could have prevented it - and he’s already gotten so caught up in all the what-ifs, turning over every moment, every second of the day. Maybe if it hadn’t been snowing, the car wouldn’t have slid off the road. Maybe if he’d been successful in persuading her to stay in bed just a bit longer that morning, she’d have taken a late lunch instead of leaving the building that afternoon. Or maybe if she’d stopped to check her phone before crossing the road, she wouldn’t have stepped out. There’s so many ways the situation could have gone right. But it didn’t, it went wrong, and now… This. This unforgiving truth. 

* * *

He stays a half hour, swipes at his cheeks, straightens his back out, pulls himself together. The ritual is cathartic - at least, that’s what his therapist says - and he does feel a little bit better when he drives home. Like he’s slowly being put back together; one piece at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> i like to think of this as corny!angst


End file.
